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Psychosilly is an unfeasibly quirky assortment of poems for young (and old) readers that unravels the mysteries of the mind and the world. Enter a topsy-turvy universe where dreams are wide and reality is thin and wispy, where doodles have full voting rights, homework is set by the devil, and dogs shape-shift in their dreams. Another day at the office for Your Common-Our-Garden-Martian…Illustrated by the author.

"I love everything about this book and so wish we could see more of this type of publication.”
-The School Librarian
Three poems from Psychosilly
The Doodle Man is what I am;
I’m brought to life in lazy classrooms,
I dwell in the margins and squat on corners,
I'm drawn for fun on any blank space:

A zig-zag line, well that’s my mouth;
On top of that a spiral nose,
Two asterisk eyes, a half-pint head,
A sketchy body, thumbnail clothes.

Small is beautiful, that’s my creed;
I shout it but you do not heed;
I’m dwarfed by your dreaming pen
That conjures capers once again.

The Doodle Man is what I am,
Made up of wonky geometry;
A face that peers from shapes and swirls,
Pen product of a scribble word.

The Doodle guy with a suit and tie,
A Doodle wife, a Doodle home,
In a Doodle city one inch wide,
A humble hamlet on the side.

But if all doodles in the world
Were gathered on one single sheet
That screed might stretch to Timbuktu;
Now wouldn’t that be something knew?

A Doodle country, by decree,
Surrounded by a Doodle sea,
On a Doodle planet, cartoon-crammed
And spinning round with Doodle glee!

The Doodle Man is what I am,
I’m one long daydream from cloud nine,
I’ll break the ice on your new schoolbooks;
Japes and skits and tricks I’ll mime.

The Doodle Man is what I am;
That’s right; stick figure to the stars,
All improvised and global too
And coming soon to a page near you.

A boy without a brain,
A fish without a skeleton,
A sink without a drain.

A girl without a bean,
A land that’s mellow, yellow, jello,
A sky that’s gone all green,

A laugh without a mouth,
A dream without a doubt,
A wobbling, hobbling universe
But what’s it all about?

A man without a mind,
A poet without principles
Except the loopy kind.
An Alien from Inner Space,
between the ears, behind the face,
A dreamling dreamt up in a trance;
A traveller come to earth by chance.

He won’t add up or go to school,
He’s happy to break all the rules;
He floats and fools and speaks in tongues
As that’s his way of having fun

He’s the antenna of an ant,
The cool complexion of a plant,
His eyes are pickled jellyfish,
He’s here to grant our every wish.

I like to spend my days when free
Laughing at his levity,
And watch him juggle asteroids
Or spy him sailing through the void.

I see him now in Inner Space,
Can visualise his oddball face,
Anatomy and far-out clothes;
Just where he gets them no one knows.

He’ll always be a friend in need;
I’ll always heed his cosmic creed,
Till he floats off one final time…

And all I’m left with is this rhyme.
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